Dizzy
by Transition88
Summary: Every slash on his wrist gave him an odd sense of control. The same control he had when he refused his pills, when he killed Pilar. But he still felt dizzy. Shane centric, season 6.


**A/N: Well, here it is, my first Weeds story. I would make it multi-chapter but the weeds forum is pretty dead so I don't think many people will read this, so theirs no point for chapters. So instead you get a really long one shot.**

**I love Shane angst, but unfortunately theirs not much of it online, but I really wanted to change that so I wrote my first fan fiction in over 2 years. (I pretty much abandoned my account up until now.)**

**Anyway here it is. Sorry if Shane seems OC, I tried to keep his "psychopathy" in the story.**

Dizzy. He felt almost dizzy as his head spun slowly, drooping towards his neck. He straightened up and pressed the small knife harder, watching as the blood surged slowly from his veins. The loss of blood made him feel weak, yet also gave him a small rush. He felt alive.

He wasn't sure why he did it.

Out of guilt for killing Pilar? No, that wasn't it, the rush from killing her was what he tried to emulate with every slash on his wrist.

Guilt for making his family have to uproot? Perhaps. But he was usually able to restrain that guilt with the simple thought that he did it to protect them.

The control of it was nice, reminiscent of when he didn't take his pain pills after being shot; it was something he had control over.

Silas's banging on the motels bathroom door was enough to jolt him from these thoughts and he cursed under his breath when he noticed the small pool of blood that had gathered on the floor. He mopped it up with some toilet paper and then used some more to wrap up the wounds on his arm, before hiding it under the sleeve of his black hoodie. He ignored the continuous shouts from his brother as he ran water over his blood soaked hands.

As he opened the door the dizziness returned. Was the motel room always this bright? The feeling was reminiscent of a hangover and he clutched his temple for a second, his knees threatening to give out. His other hand shot to his arm and he could feel the moisture leaking through the sleeve. _Too much blood _he thought to himself, feeling more accomplished than worried. Halfway across the room his knees gave out, his hands flying to the ground, keeping him from completely falling.

"Whoa, you alright there bud?" asked his concerned uncle. He mumbled a half assed reply, hardly understanding the in cohesive English himself. He attempted to push his body up but his arms were too weak.

"Shane?" Once again his uncle spoke, and he mused at the thought that it was his uncle caring for him instead of his mother.

"I'm fine" finally a proper response escaped his lips, and he used the last ounce of energy he had to push his body up from the floor, quickly kicking a stray t-shirt to hide the small blood stain he left. He would clean it when he had the energy, which was certainly not now. He made his was into his bead, clutching his arm tightly to his body, the way a child would clutch a stuffed bear.

It was a sick habit, but he was a sick kid.

His eyes flutter open before he shoots out of bed, panting.

"Finally, you're awake, you went to bed so early I thought you'd be up by the crack of dawn."

But his uncle's words don't hit his ears; he's too busy panicking.

The blood on the floor, and now the blood on the sheets.

"Your mom bought donuts, come eat with us."

But his breathing is too rapid, he can't have them take this from him, this is the only thing that's his.

_They can't know._

He tries to control his rapid breaths, tries to appear normal.

What is normal? It's almost a foreign concept to him.

Pressing his arm tightly to his body he scoots out of the bed and makes his way to his suitcase, digging through with one arm before he finds a clean shirt, long sleeved of course, before dashing into the bathroom.

His sweatshirt sleeve has stuck to his skin, and he bites back a cry of agony as he lifts it up his arm, which is scary to look at. He dips it under the scalding water spewing from the tap, in order to get the remains of the toilet paper off.

It hurts but he doesn't enjoy this pain. This pain isn't something he did himself, this pain is just a reminder of his stupidity.

As his blade slowly sinks into his skin his breath slowly evens out, and when he remembers his stupidity of the blood on the floor and the blood on the sheets, he pressed harder, pulling at the knife and having it rip through his skin.

The gash isn't as big as yesterdays but he still digs around the bathroom for anything better than toilet paper before finding a spare roll of paper towels under the sink.

He wraps them around his arm before pulling on his dark Brunswick green shirt.

After hiding his new wound under the fresh shirt he makes his way out of the bathroom, tucking his old hoodie into his suitcase.

"Shane come eat." His mothers voice so foreign to him.

"I'm not hungry."

His mother shrugs but his uncle looks at him quizzically, "you slept through dinner. When was the last time you ate?"

He realizes he doesn't know the answer and is too distracted to come up with a reply, so he simply mumbles, "I dunno."

"Well considering you almost passed out last night before sleeping a good 12 hours I think you need to eat something." His uncle answers.

But he's too preoccupied with the thought of the sheets, the carpet, to say anything.

Too preoccupied to hear his mother ask "He almost passed out?" Or to notice the quizzical look on his older brothers face. However he does notice his breathings gone rapid again so he sits at the little motel room table his family is gathered around and picks up a donut. He takes one small bite and the tears at the rest of it, the same way his knife would tear at his skin.

He sits there a bit, picking at his food, wishing to just be alone.

His wish is mostly granted when his mother and uncle and baby brother depart for the day, leaving it between just him and Silas.

While the TV distracts his brother, he slowly and silently tears his sheets off the bed, and slips out of the room.

He wanders aimlessly around the motel for a bit before finding a maids cart.

"Uh hi, I need new sheets."

The maid takes the dirty ones from his arms.

"What room are you in?"

"2F but I can do it myself, really."

She gives him a blank stare before reaching into the cart and giving him fresh sheets.

He dashed back to his own room, slowing his pace as he makes it to the door and creaks it open.

Today must have been his lucky day as he could hear the shower running.

He puts the new sheets on the bed in record time before looking around for something to clean the stain off the carpet.

A half empty cup of water among the other plastic dishes littering their small table catches his eye and he dippes his t shirt that he used to cover the blood stained carpet into it before attempting to scrub at the stain.

It wasn't completely finished by the time he heard the water cut off, but it looked a hell of a lot better.

He quickly tosses the t-shirt back over the faded spot and hops back into the bed, staring at the ceiling his brother excited the bathroom with a towel tied around his waist.

He felt an odd sense of accomplishment at the fact that he had hidden the secret so well and a smirk tugged at his face.

"What are you so happy about?" The voice came from his brother and he looks over at him, a t-shirt and sweats now covering his body.

"I can't say, it's a secret."

He raises a skeptical eyebrow, "please tell me you didn't kill someone else."

He smirks and continues to hold his gaze with the ceiling.

"Oh god, Shane?"

"I was just kidd-" he stops mid sentence as his eyes meet Silas's, in his brothers hands are the dark grey t-shirt he had used to cover the stain.

_Dizzy. He felt dizzy. And so claustrophobic, as if everything was closing in on him. _

He thought he had scrubbed the stain out well but when he leaned forward to glance he notices just how wrong he was. Sure it was no longer the deep burgundy it was before, but the stain was still there and it was still noticeable.

"What is this?" His brother asks.

He tries to sense reality, but his grip loosens, he feels so dizzy.

"I-I don't know."

"It looks like blood."

He's quiet, wanting to be anywhere but here, subconsciously his hand makes its was to his arm and he squeezes down on it, relishing in the pain it causes, the distraction it serves.

"Shane what the hell did you do." Again his brothers voice interrupts him and he feels oddly weak, usually he could stand up to Silas, but this was different.

This was his secret, it was the only thing that was his.

He can't think straight, can't even come up with a descent lie, spilled juice, tripped running and cut his leg, _anything_ to make his denial convincing.

"N-nothing. That's not- I didn't" He fumbles over his words.

Before his brother can even continue he's dashed to the bathroom.

He needs to escape, but if he can't do it physically he'll do it mentally.

In agony he realizes he's left his knife in the room and grabs a razor from inside the shower, slashing it again and again.

"Shane what the hell is going on?"

_Stupid stupid stupid_ he thinks after every slash, the sick smile returning.

He then washed it off in the sink and wraps his arm back up with fresh paper towels.

He slides against the door and waits a few moments before re-entering.

His brother looks up at him.

"I just remembered, I broke a glass the other day, cut my leg while picking up the pieces. That's my blood."

Part of his half assed lie is true, but his brother won't buy any of it.

"That's bullshit, but please, please just tell me you didn't kill someone else."

He shakes his head, "I didn't, Besides, I prefer sports equipment as my weapon of choice, much less messy." He laughs to himself and sits on the edge of his bed, surprised when his brother sits next to him.

"Shane I'm trying to help you."

He glances away and pauses "Help me what?"

"Shane what the fuck is wrong with you lately?"

"Oh like you care. Look I'm sorry we had to uproot again, I was trying to save our asses."

His brother heaves out a sigh, "even before that something was wrong. Well actually something's been off since dad died, but I didn't really give two shits until after you were shot."

He's silent and Silas takes this as an opportunity to continue.

"I mean not just because you were shot, but because you…" His brother can't seem to find the words and sighs again "you wouldn't even take you pain pills. That's when I noticed something was wrong. Really wrong."

At these words his arm subconsciously grabs his wrist, which his brother notices.

"What was that?"

_Really Silas? After years of not noticing anything you notice that?_

"What was what?"

"Your arm."

_Fuck fuck fuck_

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, really?" His brother starts to reach for his arm and he jolts up, walking away, his own hand still glued to his forearm.

"Silas just fuck off. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Show me whatever your hiding under your sleeve, and I will."."

"I'm not hiding anything."

"Then prove it."

_Really Silas, __**now **__is when you decide to give a shit?_

He just stands there, not knowing where to go, and in a blink of an eye his brother is up and tackling him to the floor. Usually he would have enough energy to tackle him off, but again he just felt so weak.

_So dizzy._

"Silas get the fuck off me what are you doing-"

But his brother has grabbed his arm and yanks his sleeve, pulling it down.

His brother looks tentatively at the paper towels wrapped around his arm, but he's too frozen with shock to take advantage of this moment and break free.

Gently Silas unwraps the paper towels from his arm and his finally meet the scarred forearm.

There are about 3 deep gashes, and then a bunch of normal sized cuts surrounding the rest of the arm, some are scabbed over, some are scarring, and some look brand new. And they all overlap, and completely cover the stretch of skin.

He finally looks up at his brother who's face is reminiscent of when he told him he had "pegged out" and killed Pilar.

"Shane oh my god. Holy shit Shane. Jesus fucking Christ."

Silas's words are hardly a whisper yet they send odd chills down his back.

His brother stands and he sits up as his brother starts to pace.

"Please don't tell anyone."

"Shane-"

"I'll do anything, please Silas, I'm begging you."

"Shane-"

"Silas please I need this I'll-"

"SHANE" finally his brother has his attention.

"Shane why? What's wrong with you. I mean I knew you were fucked, but Shane you could have killed yourself with shit like this."

"What's it matter I'm not hurting anyone." He mumbled a half assed reply.

"You're hurting yourself"

Silence filled the room and he took that as an opportunity to move and sit on the edge of the bed, his brother still pacing.

"Shane w-why?

He shrugs, slowly placing his sleeve back over his arm.

"Are you like depressed or something?" Silas asks with weird hint of worriedness in his voice. He sighs, shrugging again.

"I dunno. Last time I heard about me being depressed was when my shrink wanted to put me on anti-depressants, but I was like 10-" He smirks to himself and lets out a small chuckle "I guess I really am psycho."

But his brother doesn't laugh and glares at him instead.

"Shane, Shane this is serious. Can you please just take this seriously? Just once. I'm trying to help you."

The smirk disappears from his face quickly, and his eyes meet the floor.

"I guess I just like the control it gives me." A less half assed reply for sure.

"The control?"

"Yeah. Like I can control the pain…like when I didn't take the pain pills."

"So you like pain?" His brother's question sounds simple enough but he can't think of a reply because he doesn't know the answer.

"I dunno. I guess when I do it on purpose I do, cause you know…the control. And this..this is mine. It's…I dunno….my secret, ya know?"

_Because they're mine_

His brother is silent and stares at him for a bit.

"I didn't leave after you were shot. Because that's when I realized just how fucked up she made you. But I thought I still had time to…I dunno…save you. But then you killed Pilar and I thought you were some lost cause-"

"And me cutting myself just makes me even more insane? I'm sorry you can't fix me."

"And you cutting yourself makes me realize I can still help you. Theirs still something I can save you from."

"I don't need saving. I'm not some suicidal maniac-" He smirks again "I'm a homicidal maniac."

His brothers face changes from worry to a disturbed kind of expression.

"Shane this isn't funny."

But the smirk remains, the twisted half smile.

"Shane for fucks sake please, please just be serious for once in your life. Shane you're fifteen, you shouldn't be like this, why are you like this? Look I'm sorry if I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry I let you have a threesome when you were goddamn thirteen, I'm sorry I let you get shot, I'm sorry you have a shit mother who let you drink away the pain from getting shot. The pain you like apparently. I'm sorry-"

His brother's odd rambling wipes the smirk from his face and he feels both afraid and guilty.

"Don't be sorry, none of that was your fault. You turned down Europe to make sure I didn't go off the deep end…I'm sorry I failed you at that-" he smirks for a moment, "please just don't tell anyone Silas."

"Only if you promise not to do it again."

"But-but that's the exact reason I don't want you telling anyone."

Silas sighs, reaching forward and grabbing his arm again, gently pulling back the sleeve, and even though he's already seen it a slight gasp escapes from him.

"Shane I can' let you continue doing this. I have to be a big brother now. I have to help you."

He's silent, his eyes glancing around the room, looking anywhere but at his brother who is examining his arm.

"How long have you been doing this?" His brother finally asks.

"What?" He still doesn't look over.

"How long have you been… hurting yourself?"

"Oh I guess since…after I killed Pilar."

"Was it out of guilt?" He can hear the trace of hopefulness in his brother's voice.

_Tell me when they come. The feelings._

"No." He answers bleakly.

"Then why then?"

He sighs, he knows the answer, ort of, and he knows his brother won't understand it, but he tells the truth anyway, he's too tired to lie.

_Too dizzy._

"Because I liked the pain from the gunshot, I liked knowing I could stop it, but not stopping it. But then me arm healed-"

"And you murdered someone."

"And I destroyed the bitch. And it wasn't the same, but, it- I got that rush every time I sliced at my arm with my knife. I got the pain I could control. My pain."

His eyes finally meet his brothers, and the next question was one he wasn't expecting.

"What knife?"

He looks away again, refusing to answer.

_He can't take that from me._

"Shane, where's knife?"

But his brother is met with silence, and yet it comes as a slight surprise to him when Silas begins to dig around in his suitcase.

"Silas stop that's my stuff!"

Silas holds up a blood stained shirt, and stares a bit, before picking up a blood stained hoodie and staring at it and then him.

Finally his brother triumphantly picks up the knife, and turns to examine it, a sick expression overtakes his brothers face.

The knife was covered in dry blood and he feels almost guilty for not cleaning it, yet watches in horror as his brother chucks it into the garbage.

"Shane, please stop." It's only then, hearing the raw anxiety in his brother's desperate plea that he realizes he's lost this battle.

"Fine."

His brother finally smiles and wraps him in a n odd hug which he doesn't return.

"I won't tell anyone, but I'm gonna check your wrists from now on. If I see any new cuts I'll have to tell someone."

He nods at the reply, looking around before climbing into bed and staring at the ceiling.

_He wasn't sure if he could keep the promise he made, but it was worth a shot._

His eyes focused on a sole part of he ceiling.

_He no longer felt so dizzy._


End file.
